


not admit impediments

by bog gremlin (tomatocages)



Series: nonsexual intimacy prompts [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Back Scratches, Companionable Snark, M/M, Military Training, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25386901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatocages/pseuds/bog%20gremlin
Summary: Frustrated after a long day of running drills with Atlas for the Garrison, Shiro takes a break. Keith joins him.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: nonsexual intimacy prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838314
Comments: 6
Kudos: 72





	not admit impediments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_aphorism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_aphorism/gifts).



> Nonsexual intimacy prompt: back scratches ([originally posted on twitter 7/7/20](https://twitter.com/boggremlin/status/1280643029276262400))

Sitting in the overhanging, heavy shade of the Atlas, too drained by the heat of the desert to even sweat: Shiro drops his head forward, letting it hang heavy on his neck. He’s been running drills all day, trying to repeat the transformation he’d managed during the last battle, but Atlas is being stubborn. 

That’s what he tells the brass, anyway: _the ship has a mind of her own. She’s stubborn_. Really, Shiro’s just annoyed with the ceaseless military drills — he knows the point of them, he just hates it — and Atlas has picked up on it. She’s less being stubborn and more responding to Shiro’s actual desires, foremost of which is to stop playing war and to start building some kind of peace. 

Keith pulls up a polite distance away on a hoverbike that probably belongs to Veronica. Anything practical and fun belongs to Veronica; she has too many connections to be boring, she always says, and she’s a big fan of infrastructure. Keith gets along with her easily, and it drives Lance nuts. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, watching Keith’s boots make their way towards him. They’re scuffed from the dust and stand, but not shabby; Keith takes care of his things. “How’s your training going?”

“Not much training,” Keith says. He drops to a knee in front of Shiro and shoves a water pouch into Shiro’s field of vision, forcing him to lift his head up. “Kolivan and Krolia are heading off-planet and I’m stationed with a team at my old place. We’re mostly rebuilding. I think it annoys Iverson.” 

Shiro swishes a mouthful of water through his teeth; he feels gritty from the dust, inside and out. “Sounds like Mitch,” he says, spitting into the sand. 

Keith drops his other knee, then shifts to sit on one hip. He’s far enough away that Shiro doesn’t feel the heat of him — Keith always runs warm, though he’s never made any comment to indicate that it’s uncomfortable — but close enough that he can reach the water when Shiro hands it back. 

“Looks like they haven’t given you a minute all day,” Keith says. He takes a swallow of water, looks sideways at Shiro. Shiro doesn’t mind these little sideways looks: Keith’s assessing him, sure, but the goal has never been to make Shiro feel weak. Half the time, it just makes Shiro preen.

“I’m taking a lot of minutes now,” Shiro says. He taps his prosthetic against the Atlas’ gleaming hull; she chirps in his head, a little back-and-forth. _Shave-and-a-haircut — two bits_ , like Shiro’s grandfather used to sing. 

“Good girl,” Keith says, grinning. It looks nice, to see him grin, even if his face is half-smudged with dust, clean around the eyes and mouth from his goggles and the bandana he pulls over the bottom half of his face when he's driving. He places one hand against Atlas, a rub more than a tap. “Watching out for our paladin, huh.”

“Ex-paladin,” Shiro corrects.

“Don’t be so sure,” Keith says. He sounds so confident these days, so soothing. For a while, Shiro thought he’d never hear Keith’s voice again. “I think it’s one of those lifetime membership things. My dad — used to say he’d be a firefighter no matter what. Even if he retired.”

“I can’t wait to retire,” Shiro groans. He rolls his shoulders; there’s dust under his jacket, and it itches. “I’ll pack a bag and go stay at some fancy hotel where no one recognizes me, and I’ll eat so much cake I can’t fit back into this damn uniform.”

“You always do have a plan,” Keith says. He reaches over and scratches at the space between Shiro’s shoulder blades, the one spot he can never get on his own, even with a floating robot arm. Technology is useless: only Keith will never disappoint him.

“A little lower — left — I will leave you all of my earthly possessions when I escape from this outfit,” Shiro gasps, letting his head fall forward again. Keith laughs and moves to sit behind him, scratching with the perfect amount of pressure. Shiro is tempted to take his shirt off, but the danger of sunburn looms. 

“Too late,” Keith says. “Jacinta in Inventory gave me most of your stuff after Kerberos. And you don’t own anything else that I know of.”

“I have an excellent spaceship,” Shiro grouses. 

“Please, she has you.” 

Shiro laughs; Atlas echos the sound in his head, and blows a cool stream of air from a valve overhead, ruffling their hair and stirring up even more dust. Shiro gives up and strips off his jacket and shirt, until he’s just in the tank he wears underneath. Keith starts to move away, but Shiro sends his prosthetic after him, catching him around one hip and pulling him back in, closer than before. 

“Finish the job,” Shiro whines, and Keith obliges. His nails are sharper this way, through one layer of fabric instead of three. 

“You’re gonna get sunburned,” Keith warns. He’s still sensibly covered up.

“Maybe then I can peel off a layer of respectability,” Shiro grouses. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“You’ll peel off a layer of something,” Keith agrees. “Tell you what — I can catch a ride back. Take the bike, dive off a cliff. You’ve gotta get it out of your system or else you’ll say something regrettable to the brass.”

“Oh no,” Shiro says. He stands and hauls Keith up with him. “We’ll go together. I’m inviting myself to your Blade headquarters.”

“You’re mixing work and pleasure,” Keith says, “Or at least the promise of Gnen’s cooking.”

“Don’t you dare act responsible now,” Shiro warns.

Keith grins again — twice in an afternoon. Shiro is on top of the world. “How could I,” he says, “when I’ve got you for an example?”


End file.
